And here we are! The year 2016. Isn’t it shiny and new and filled with potential? Maybe. The new is always very alluring for awhile, since it is unfamiliar and, perhaps most importantly, different. I think that might be why we set resolutions at the start of each new year, as if we’re exhilarated or motivated by that shiny sense of newness.

I don’t know that I can set concrete goals for myself that I’ll realistically keep. I won’t deny that, no, not at all. I’m hopelessly addicted to caffeine, and I like it that way. I smoke weed a decent amount, but again, why not? In a very real, very emotional sense, I’m feeling better than I have in quite some time, and though the calendar’s reset, I feel no need to alter my habits. They’re firmly in place, and perhaps I finally am, too.

If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that we can be sure of nothing. No future is set in stone, so why bother labeling what hasn’t happened yet? Maybe this will be the year of Self-Development, or maybe it’ll be the year of Disappointments. Probably it’ll be a Mixed Bag, though, a treasure trove of good and bad. All I want to do is stay afloat in all the craziness.

Staying afloat for me is writing as much as possible, and reading enough to match. I’m excited about where I can take my writing, largely because I feel so free to fuck up. I am writing for no one but myself, in the creative sense. Academics are different and admittedly important, but different. The creative stuff is what fuels the imagination, what keeps me level, what helps me escape. I want to prioritize writing over most other things, which I failed to do in 2015.

I wrote two solid short stories during my first semester of college. Neither were exceptional for my own abilities, I don’t think, but they were solid, and I learned from both experiences. I’m in the process of a longer story, likely a novelette, about a woman who is apparently “randomly” chosen to be an intermediary for a massive alien conflict, a budding war, many lightyears away. It’s currently titled “The Good Teacher.” I’d like to finish it in the next two weeks. I want to produce as much writing as possible this year, setting times for myself to write during the day, every day, working around classes and homework. It’s easy to be distracted, and I must control myself as a writer if I hope to improve. That’s probably every writer’s goal, ultimately, but it helps to make Step One writing it down. Once it’s written down, I may be guilt-ridden if I defy my own word. Christ, it’s all I’ve got.

I don’t post frequently on this blog, which is something I’m considering changing. I keep my own personal journal for venting and I write enough otherwise, but there’s something nice about knowing others are reading your words.

And if you are reading these words, I hope you’ve begun your year happily. I hope past resentments can be dissolved, grudges deteriorated, negative thoughts deflated. Do something you love, whether it’s sketching or napping or eating good food, and when you’re doing that thing, remark upon how lovely it is, and don’t forget it.

In perfect form, I’ve gone all summer without posting anything on this blog. Also in perfect form, I’ve done very little writing since the summer began…and now it’s almost September. I suppose that’s how things go sometimes.

It hasn’t been an easy summer. I think, since graduating high school, there’s been an underlying dread attached to every thought of leaving home or being in college. Honestly, I don’t fully want to do it. Until September 3, I’m still in my home town, sitting around drinking coffee and pretending to be productive. I know that, for my own best interest, I need to get away. But I also know that, for my own selfish interests, I want to stay and have nothing change.

Besides my reluctance to hop the nest, I’m dealing with the long-term post-breakup depression that literally every other incoming college freshman is probably experiencing on some level. Who hasn’t had a breakup before going off to their first year of college? Happy people, maybe. I haven’t really felt happy in a while. That’s a scary thing, if you’ve never experienced it. I don’t actually know if I’ll be happy today, because I know my mind can concoct reasons not to be…no matter the beauty of a thing. I find myself lingering on questions that should have been answered two months ago. I find myself worrying about my quality as a human, as a significant other. I find myself wondering how I could have been different, and if I even should have been.

Those are the big things. And they’re trying to command the forefront of my attention. When I let them, I spiral. It’s hard not to spiral because it’s so easy.

It’s not like I’m creatively spent, of course. I don’t think that’s possible for sardonic teenagers. I get new ideas every day. What if a man was trapped inexplicably in a house with four locked, multicolored doors? What if a time-traveler was forced to stop traveling, confined to a containment unit, watching his friends and loved ones age without him? What if a small town was trapped by a gang of malevolent, bodiless witches?

Oh, look! Common themes: Capture. Containment. Helplessness. I wonder where those narrative delicacies came from.

I know I need to get out. I know I need a change. But change is scary. Change is things you’re not prepared for, things you’ve never dealt with. And it only makes it worse that everyone’s left already, or will be gone soon. In a month this will seem trivial, irrelevant. Now it’s scary. So when, aside from that, you’re also dealing with writer’s block, a debilitating ailment that renders people like me completely useless, you can see how things become a little hazy mentally. I’m keeping myself up by reading and going for walks, but I just have to wait. I can only hope that in the future, my writing returns to me. I really need it to, because I don’t know that I can function without it.

As I wrote in a post earlier this evening, I finished watching the ninth and final season of The Office tonight. Alongside this, I also finished writing the first “Arc” of my series, The Chronicles of Troy.

I don’t want to elaborate too much, but Troy is something I’ve been working on since September 2012. Before that, the idea was for it to be a graphic novel series, and I even wrote a few scripts. I then decided to make it a short story series divided into “Arcs.” and each Arc would be comprised of fifteen episodes or short stories. The later stories proved to be longer and were novellas in their last few stories. The series is science-fictional, with a bunch of adventure, some mystery, and even a bit of romance. It follows an alien named Troy who travels the multiverse with two humans.

The series was inspired, obviously, by Doctor Who, but has grown into its own original work, in my opinion. The first half needs a lot more work, since my writing has matured greatly, but I’m proud of Troy‘s ability to differentiate itself and come into its own as a story and series. I’m so hopeful about what the series could become in the future, and want nothing but to make it a real, bona fide series people read. That’s my dream.

Anyway, I finished the finale last week. I haven’t had much of a chance to write a blog post about it till tonight, and now that I’ve calmed down about The Office, I guess I can talk about it.

There’s something so emotional about really finishing something. After working on this Arc for a year and a half, it’s incredible to me that I’ve reached this point. I almost thought I never would. I’ve got enormous plans for the future of the series and for what I’ve already worked on (lots of rewrites). I’ve come to love and admire these characters unlike any others I’ve written, and perhaps most importantly, I’m PROUD of those characters. They’ve developed at an unimaginable rate and to an unbelievable extent. I can’t wait to begin the second Arc, but for now, that’s just ruminating in my brain. Big plans.

With the end of Troy‘s first Arc and the end of The Office hot on its heels, I’m forced to become a little introspective and think about my life for a while. That’s what creative douche-bags do, isn’t it? In all seriousness, it’s rather odd to come to these endings in my life. I was so dependent on the characters in Troy for so long, and though I’ll return to many of them, there are multiple differences that I have to cope with and adjust to in the future. And the same goes for The Office. That show gave me such a flood of unexpected emotions, by the final season, that it hurt a lot when it ended. I haven’t depended on a damn television so much since I started Doctor Who, and not even Who has made me cry as much as The Office did.

There was just a lovable quality about all the characters in that show. You were devoted to them even if you hated them, and even if you were unhappy with an episode’s writing (season 8 was rough for me, and yet…). And Who hasn’t given me such major emotions, perhaps because it lives on. The finality of The Office‘s last episode, “Finale,” was so well written, and the characters were given such beautiful (if odd) conclusions that I was bawling for the last twenty minutes. That has never happened to me because of a story, and for that I’m ever more vulnerable about this show.

So, the introspection continues. How do I cope, now, with these endings? When my seven year-old brother passed away in 2010, I really struggled. Of course I did. And I will never say I’m “over” that event, because that’s impossible. But I had to learn to cope, to move onward while coping. Writing was my outlet, so now that writing is affecting me so much, I have to keep using it as an outlet. And as far as The Office goes, I’m going to have to start a new show. A good one. A really good one. I think I’ll watch 30 Rock next, and then maybe It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, or Modern Family. I need something to fill the hole The Office left. I need that.

Life goes on. I’m going to rewrite the premiere episode of Arc I, and then I’ll start revisions. While I do that, I’ll be getting serious about starting to write Arc II. For now I’m giving myself a break, though. I don’t follow the “read every day, write every day” rule as much as I should, but I’ll live. I think I’ve earned a brief break. Soon enough it’ll be back to the grindstone, though.

I’m reading Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. Love that book, and though I’m only a third of the way through, I highly recommend it. I’m sure I’ll write a post about it when I’m done.